


In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me

by Kumikoseph



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Sort Of, Violence, and a baby, but has a hopeful ending, not really a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21937390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kumikoseph/pseuds/Kumikoseph
Summary: Based on Leonixon's AU in which Sixty ended up deviating and was promptly adopted by Hank Anderson, whose collection of android sons grows steadily, and- oh, look at that, Hank, you've got a granddaughter now.
Relationships: CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60/Reader, Sixty/Female Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leonixon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonixon/gifts).



> This is a little gift for my good friend Leonixon, whose desire was for me to make her cry. So here we go, I hope you like it love <3

Loneliness was a disease.

Sixty suffered from it greatly before he met you. His life had been the same thing - wake from stasis, solve murder cases, find somebody to have a one-night stand with, fall into stasis - lather, rinse, repeat. He had been miserable. People looked at him differently, not like how they looked at his brothers, Connor and Nines. Not with  _ pride  _ and  _ admiration.  _ And while he knew he had people who cared about him, it didn’t change anything. Life was a bore.

And then he met you, and everything changed.

The two of you had met in a bar. Sixty had been there scoping someone out to take home for the night, but when your eyes had connected across the room, he knew there was something different about you. 

It was you who approached him.

No more than two months later, the two of you were  _ officially  _ an item, and it was like his whole world had been flipped upside down. Everyone noticed the change, even Gavin had commented on how Sixty was less of a sarcastic asshole these days -  _ “don’t get me wrong, you’re still a sarcastic asshole, but just slightly less of one,”  _ \- and Sixty would be lying if he said he himself didn’t feel any different.

The days were brighter. But not as bright as your smile.

The small things filled Sixty with joy, like how you popped in to visit him at work to and from your job several times a week, and he pretended not to know you were coming when you snuck up behind him and covered his eyes, whispering  _ ‘guess who?’  _ into his ear.

Then there was the way you insisted on being the big spoon when Sixty had had a trying day at work, your cuddles so soft and welcoming, made even better when you sang softly to him and helped him destress.

The two of you always reassured each other when life was being a pain, and it was only half a year into your relationship when Sixty made the decision to propose to you. It was clear in his mind, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He wanted every day to be as beautiful and bright as you were.

You said yes, of course.

Everybody around Sixty was happy and supportive, including his old man, who scoffed at all the romantic shit. Hank was just overjoyed to see something going right for Sixty.

It wasn’t long after the wedding that Sixty posed the idea of having a baby. Being an android, Sixty couldn’t have biological children with a human, but with a sperm donor, it was possible; you wanted this very much, and you raced to find a donor that most closely matched Sixty’s appearance. Blonde hair, brown eyes, peachy pale skin. They found a match, and made a baby.

That was eight months ago. Eight months before the attack.

As a prosecutor, you had made some enemies. You’d put a man in jail for life for cold-blooded murder, but it was his brother who had taken revenge. He’d caught you on the street, somebody had seen him drag you into the closest alley and they’d called the police, but Connor arrived on the scene just a moment too late.

The murderer’s brother had shot you, and Connor shot him in return. He’d meant to non-lethally incapacitate the man, to take him alive, but the man turned his gun on himself and took his own life, and that was that.

Connor did everything he could to save you. He called an ambulance first and foremost, he tried to stem the bleeding, and he performed CPR when you stopped breathing, when your heart stopped beating. He did not succeed in reviving you.

Sixty had been out buying baby clothes when the murder had taken place, several miles away. He had not been notified until some time later, when he’d received a call from Nines; he’d been alarmed from the moment he answered the call, because Nines did not speak at first. 

Nines was always swift and to the point, so his hesitance was highly unusual.

But then, he said  _ your _ name in  _ that _ voice.

“...Sixty… I’m sorry…”

It felt as though his pump regulator had shattered. 

Nines sent him the address for the hospital in which your body had been taken to, but he did not give Sixty any false hope - you were dead, you weren’t coming back. The baby, however, was another story. There was hope for your child, but that hope was brittle, frail, and Sixty did not know what to do.

He stood in the morgue, staring at your body in the partially unzipped corpse bag, his eyes hanging on the deep cup across your abdomen where the emergency C-section had been performed. They’d had to be quick, not careful, because it was about saving the baby’s life, not yours. It was too late for  _ you. _

Higher up your body, the gunshot wound was apparent. The bullet had pierced your lung and you’d suffocated as you bled to death, it was no wonder Connor had failed to resuscitate you when you’d drowned from the inside.

You’d been able to ask Connor to deliver one last message to Sixty.

“She… she told me to tell you… that she loves you, and she always will.” Connor had managed to relay your final words. He hadn’t been cruel enough to record the moment, as he knew Sixty would replay it in his head over and over until the end of time.

It hurt to look at your lifeless body. You might have looked peaceful if it wasn’t for the blood still staining your lips.

Sixty’s hand shook as his fingertips grazed your cheek. Your skin was cold and it deterred him, but not enough to keep him from laying a kiss to your forehead.

He could stand there staring at you for hours, reconstructing the events of the attack in his mind, wondering if there was a chance anything could have gone differently. He knew if he had been with you, you would still be alive, and he would never not blame himself for the fact.

Perhaps Connor could have done something differently, but Sixty refused to hold it against him. He’d seen wonder-boy covered in your blood, that devastated look in his eyes, and knew that Connor had put all his processing power into saving your life. The fact that he had failed... Sixty knew Connor would blame himself for that, as Sixty blamed himself for being absent when you needed him most.

But right now, what could have happened was not important. It was what happened next that mattered.

Your baby, born one month premature, fighting for its life in the neonatal intensive care unit -  _ that  _ is what was important in that moment, and Sixty knew you would want him there with your baby instead of mulling over something that could not be changed.

It was a girl. A precious, tiny little thing. Too tiny. She slept in an incubator, surrounded by tubes and wires that fed fluids into her body and helped her to breathe. She was not well enough to live outside of it just yet.

Sixty reached his sterilised hand through the opening, and gently stroked her cheek. He did not mean to rouse her, he just wanted to touch her, but she awoke anyway, making a soft gurgling noise. Her limbs twitched and her arms curled in, shaky and oh so small. Her miniscule hand found his finger and wrapped around it, an amazingly tight grip for a premature baby who was only a few hours old.

He seemed to freeze in that moment, and let her cling to his finger as she drifted off to sleep again, somehow placid despite her situation. She was strong, a fighter, and Sixty was glad, because she was just what he needed.

It was agonising not being able to hold her close for the next two weeks, but Sixty did not leave her side. She was all he had, and he didn’t want to lose her. If anything was to happen to somebody he loved, he would be ready this time. Ready to save her.

The day the doctors deemed it safe for Sixty to  _ hold  _ her was the day the tears finally came. He sobbed as he held his daughter to his chest, ensuring he was warm enough for her to cuddle; the whole time she laid against him, she did not squirm or cry. It was as if she knew that he was safe, that he was there to look over her and protect her.

He had lost the woman he loved, his wife, the one who brought him so much joy and happiness, but you were not  _ gone. _

Loneliness was a disease, and Sixty held the cure in his arms. A part of you that would stay with him, even if  _ you _ couldn’t.

“She still needs a name.” He was reminded by Connor, who frequently visited to check on his brother, and his new niece. “Did you have one picked out already?”

Sixty rocked his daughter gently, his thumb brushing across her temple to soothe her. Her eyes had opened briefly, enough for him to realise one very important thing - she had  _ your  _ eyes.

“We hadn’t decided on a name,” Sixty spoke softly, “we didn’t want to know before the birth - whether she was going to be a boy or a girl, we figured a name would come to us the moment we got to hold her.”

Connor didn’t press immediately, but Sixty fell silent for too long, and his curiosity was piqued, “Has a name come to you?”

“...I want to name her Sunny.”

That night, when Sixty was alone in the ward with his daughter, she began to cry. She had been fed, she didn’t need changing, she wasn’t too hot or too cold, Sixty kept his eyes on her vitals like a hawk - he didn’t need the beeping machine to tell him what he could already see with his eyes - there was no potential discomfort, her cries weren’t attention-grabbing.

Sixty felt that he knew the reason for her cries, however.

“I know, Sunny… I miss her too,” he whispered as he cradled her, his attempts to placate her failing, “shh… it’s okay, she loves you. She loves you.”

And in the silence of the ward, he began to sing to her.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” His voice was quiet and as pacifying as he could make it; he wasn’t used to talking in any way that wasn’t firm and sharp, let alone singing, but for his daughter, he managed.

“You make me happy when skies are grey.”

The child fussed, sniffling and searching with a clutching hand for Sixty’s finger, which he freely offered her.

“You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.” 

She quieted as he sang, listening to his words, and looked up at him through eyes so beautiful. A spark of hope shone upon him.

“Please don’t let my sunshine away.”

  
  



End file.
